I did not sleep that night. I laid awake, listening to the sounds of movement across the hall as Carmen moved into her room. A bath was drawn; doors opened and closed; soft footsteps tread the hallway between us, bringing with them the swish of skirts, the clinking of teacups on a tray. 

Early the next morning, when things were still quiet before my mother and James awoke, I knocked softly on her door. A sound of scuffling followed, frantic and then still. 

“Come in,” she said. 

I opened the door slowly. Inside, Carmen stood behind a small writing desk, wearing a clean white nightgown and robe, and brandishing a letter opener in my direction. 

“If you get too close, I’ll stab you through the eyes,” she said. “It works on strigans.” 

Her heartbeat was raised, but steady. I moved even slower as I stepped inside, closing the door behind me. 

“You saw what I did to the strigan,” I said. “I do not intend to harm you. If I did, I would already have done it.” 

“You already did once.” 

I bit my lip, pulling my eyes away from her neck and the way her long dark hair fell across her shoulder. It was still slightly damp from her bath, the smell of soap and rose petals almost enough to overpower the smell of her blood. 

She lowered the letter opener, studying my face, but did not set it down. 

“Why am I here?” she asked. “I don’t remember offering to wait on you.” 

“You don’t need to wait on me,” I assured her, still keeping my distance. “I can dress myself, write my own letters, and I don’t imagine you have any interest in keeping my company.” 

“If you don’t want a lady in waiting, then what do you want?” 

“I need someone who has seen the country beyond this castle. Someone who is not inclined to lie to save my feelings.” 

Her posture changed - relaxed, if not out of calm, then out of curiosity. She frowned at me in confusion. “I called you a blood-sucking monster.” 

“And were you lying?” 

The question hung in the air, an unexpected admission. I hadn’t expected to make it when I entered the room, but it felt right to say in this place. Carmen frowned deeper, as if trying to make sense of a puzzle, and sat down in her desk chair, leaning her chin on her fist as she stared at me. 

“So...you admire the honesty of my insults?” she asked. 

I shrugged. “Honesty is honesty. You appear more unafraid of me than most of your fellow Avelinians, and not particularly loyal to anyone aside from your family. This is a motivation I can understand.” 

“What is it that you want me to tell you? The rumors about where strigans come from? The way leeches like you have decimated towns?” 

“That is a start.” 

She sighed, finally setting the letter opener down on the desk, as if she had decided the direction of the conversation no longer merited a threat. “You’re right. I have no loyalty to you. What kind of bargain are you offering for my honesty?” 

I raised an eyebrow. “Are you not freed from the dungeons?” 

“My cell has improved significantly, but I am still a prisoner in this castle.” She smiled then, that mocking smile I’d become familiar with in cell fourteen. “Does your mother know that you chose a girl from her dungeon?” 

I did my best not to cringe. I did not particularly want to explain that in my mind, my mother owed me a favor in exchange for the public killing I’d done the night before. 

“I can see no reason why you shouldn’t be free to leave here and join your siblings, once the Queen understands that you are not a threat,” I said. 

“And you will make her understand this?” 

“Yes.” 

“I don’t trust you.” 

The statement came out too fast, like something rehearsed. I could see the way her muscles had tightened when I mentioned her siblings, the sudden urgency in her expression. She was young, and alone in someone else’s home, far from her family. I knew how that felt. 

“You can write to them,” I said, thinking of all the letters I had written to my mother from the Duke’s estate. “Your family. Your aunt, your siblings. You can send and receive whatever mail you like.” 

The hope and desire in her face was unmistakable. 

“I know nobles,” she said. “Outside of my family. They will expect you to follow through on your promises to me.” 

“I understand.” 

The smile that crossed her face then, just for an instant, was one that I had never seen on her before - one of genuine happiness, warm and bright and a little crooked, revealing dimples in her cheeks. It hurt to look at. It was like the sun. 

I straightened, suddenly desperate to leave. “Do we have an agreement?” 

She nodded. The momentary smile was already gone, replaced with a look of deep determination. “Yes. I will help you find the truth you want about your kind, and you will convince the Queen to release me.” 

“Good.” I stepped back, reaching for the door behind me. “You have been up all night. Take the day to rest. I will speak to you later.” 

“Alright.” 

I was gone by the end of the word, already closing the door behind me. I stood frozen for a second in the empty hallway, my hand still on the doorknob. I took a deep breath, steadying myself, trying to collect my thoughts. 

I had spent eighteen years of my life learning the tradition of nasferata: our strengths, our loyalty, the nobility of our purpose. I had been shaped and trained, from birth, to guard and protect my family. In exchange for the power I’d been granted at transformation, I had been proud to give up my birthright - inheritance, marriage prospects, the throne. I never had any reason to desire the things that were not within my role. 

And yet, within weeks, this girl who so infuriated me - who I could so easily have killed, the first time we met - had convinced me that I was a monster. Her smile made me grieve for a life that I never had. 

Poor little princess, she had said, after I fed on her. She had pity for me, under her hatred. I wondered if she knew that she could hurt me so badly, by revealing to me what I was missing - that I was creature made only to fulfill a purpose, not to live a life that I wanted. That I could never be the one to make her smile.